Of Shoes and Secrets
by Neymovirne
Summary: Lavender thinks about shopping, importance of hair care, future plans, and murder. Warnings: child abuse and referenced rape/non-con


The robe is a perfect cut and fits me like a glove. It's azure, the shade I've been scouring the shops for since Witch Weekly mentioned it. I love how it brings out my eyes and complements my hair. What if I charm the ribbon—yes, that's it. That bitch Greengrass will be green with envy, to match her house colour. I'm sure she's started dying her hair; it had looked like dirty straw until the Yule Ball. What a poser. I only use products to accentuate my natural beauty. You don't want to look fake. The trick is to seem effortless, like you don't care too much. And there's a lot of hard work going into that. Because if you really don't care, you'll end up like Hermione. Ugh, that hair!

Yes, I'm definitely keeping the ribbon. It's a shame we have to wear uniform at school, but it doesn't mean I can't look my best in it. And this new concealer from Madam Primpernelle's works wonders. My eye looks completely normal under it, not even a hint of bruising. I need to order a refill before everyone catches up and she decides to double the price, like she did with her sea salt body scrub. Two galleons for a small jar! It's totally worth it, though. Witch Weekly named it among the summer must-haves, second only to the Veela-Effect Mascara. Rightly so!

This new push-up bra is smashing. The way it lifts my tits is unbelievable. Some say Muggles are uncivilised, but I'd like to see them try and find this quality in any wizarding shop. The models in Gladrags must have already been out of fashion since McGonagall was a young girl. The bra makes it seem I have a C cup, even under those bulky robes I had to wear for the family dinner. I finally look like a woman. Good. He doesn't like that I'm all grown up now. I'll wear this bra with my pink dress for the King's Cross tomorrow. Mum will call me a slut for sure, but what does she know? Not what her husband's been doing, that's for sure.

Only it's not that she _really_ doesn't know, or she wouldn't send me shopping with that bag of gold today. I might not be the cleverest of witches, but I'm not so stupid to press the issue again. It's just like Harry and the papers this summer: they don't want to accept that You-Know-Who's back, so they call him an attention-seeking liar. They wouldn't believe if they met You-Know-Who face to face. Let me get that bottle of gin from the kitchen, Mister, and you can carry on torturing this kid. I'm sure he's done something to deserve it.

Money is the best I can get from her.

Oh, but these pumps are so cool. I can't believe my luck. If I had stayed at Madam Malkin's just a minute longer, Katie from the Quidditch team would have gotten them. What a face she made when I snatched the last pair from under her nose! It's not like she needs them, anyway. She's a good head taller than me. On these heels, she'd be towering over the crowd like Hagrid. And the colour! Every witch must have nude pumps in her closet, that's what Celestina Warbeck says.

I want to be a singer too. Flitwick has to give me the main vocal part in the choir now that the Ravenclaw bimbo has finally graduated. Not that we sing anything decent, like, ever. Christmas carols and an occasional Hobgoblins song, if Flitwick is in particularly high spirits that day. Boring. Parvati says my version of Weird Sisters's _This Is the Night_ is better than the original.

When I'm famous, I'll go on tour, with a personal stylist and a masseuse. I'll take Iris with me, of course. We'll go around the world in a trailer that has the entire house with a pool inside, like those tents from the Quidditch Cup last year. Iris will love travelling. She's reading all those books about other countries, such a Ravenclaw. I bet that's where the hat will send her. Or maybe Hufflepuff. She's such a trusting, friendly little girl. Innocent. Turning nine this October, how time flies. I wish I didn't have to leave her alone at home for almost a year, not with the looks he has started to send her.

Maybe I can steal some ingredients from Snape, before Christmas hols. Ron bragged that they had broken into his stores in our second year, to brew a potion to turn into Slytherins. What rot. I don't believe him for a moment. Ron likes to tell tales: how he played with a giant murderous chess set or met a sixty-foot basilisk or sent Gilderoy Lockhart to St. Mungo's with only a broken wand.

Lockhart was my favourite teacher, after Professor Trelawney. Some say he's a fraud now, and didn't do anything that he said he'd done, but nobody said it then, before he landed in a hospital with his brain fried up. Five-time winner of the Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, going through life as if ready to strike a pose for the magazine cover at any moment. Wonder what his hair care routine was. Probably that expensive French line he used to advertise; I'm sure they gave him plenty of free samples. Everybody loved and trusted Lockhart, even Hermione, the know-it-all she is. What's good that Snape is a potions genius? He sneers and doesn't know the purpose of shampoo, so people call him names and say he's You-Know-Who's follower.

Although maybe he really is a Death Eater. You never know with Hogwarts professors. He'll definitely have some poisons in his stores if it's true. Imagine the look on his face—not Snape's, _his_—when he realises what exactly was in his usual glass of eggnog on Boxing day. A perfect Christmas present. I'd look so elegant in a black cloak with mink fur trimming and one of those small round hats with a veil. I'd stand there as they are lowering his casket into the cold snowy ground, a single rose in my hand, and everyone would think I'm so sad while I'm laughing inside.

But enough of this useless daydreaming; I still have half a trunk to pack. I don't think my dragonhide ankle boots will fit, even with the extension charms. Well, I'm not going anywhere without those. The new Defence textbook is a total brick. Maybe I can leave that one behind? It seems useless anyway. Avoid dangerous situations and wait for the Ministry to help you out, ha. That was the first and the last time I tried to read up ahead.

"Lavender, you have a floo call!"

"Coming! Oh, hi, Parvati. Look at you, girl! That new haircut is fabulous!"

"Thanks! Have you packed already? I can't believe the summer is over. Wish we could stay home just a little longer, don't you agree?"

"Yes. Absolutely."


End file.
